Link X Ghirahim
by takocos
Summary: It has become very clear that escape is not allowed. The very thought of escape is not allowed. Link has failed to save the princess and has been captured by the demon lord Ghirahim. He has exhausted every possible escape to no avail. The demon leaves him with one option; trust, but can he do it?


I can't even begin to explain how completely insane this is. It's as if it's some alternate universe where someone- not me, but someone who looks like me, and reacts like I do, is in a situation that I would _never_ find myself in. Perhaps I tell myself that because I can't cope with the complete failure that I have become. I try not to think about it. I've always tried not to think to much about what I'm doing, because if I do, I become overwhelmed- because if I allow myself to think, I think to much, and the depression sinks in so quickly and so completely that all I can think of are ways that I could escape- not escape so that I could undo all the damage I have done, but escape from the world of the living through any means necessary.

And it has become very clear that escape is not allowed. The very thought of escape is not allowed. This world- for it is a world in and of itself in this castle, is so dark, so different from the airy sky-islands or even the lush variety of land on the surface, that it drains energy. I have tried- oh how I have tried to escape, but without Fi I am nothing. How did I let this happen?

I find myself wondering over the fates of my friends, of the people who stood in the way of the demon- and when I do, the anger that swells within me is enough to warrant an attack- I can't contain it. I can't control it. And my entire body _festers _in the anger until it threatens to tear me apart. I want to know. I want to at least know what happened in the world outside these gates, to _see _the destruction that my failure has caused.

Why the hell did this fall to me anyway? What did they _expect_!? I was nothing- I wasn't at the top of my class, I wasn't a _warrior_ I wasn't a _knight_. If the goddess chose me, she made a _horrible _choice- if it had been anyone else- Pipin for example, we wouldn't have been where we are now. Why did I follow that goddamn spirit out in the middle of the night? Why didn't I go back to bed and forget what I had seen. Why did I do _any_ of this? I have doomed us all- and _everyone _should had seen it coming! The way that Groose did. We had an entire _army _of knights, yet they let me, time and time again, venture to the surface _alone._ I cannot blame myself entirely- because this should have never fallen to me to begin with.

But that does not change the fact that I failed.

"Good morning, Skychild."

So it's morning now, is it? You would never know in the perpetual gloom that sinks over this land and never lets up. The clouds that I once dwelt above are a blockade now, dark and brooding. They no longer offer any comfort. Lord Ghirahim's mocking voice rings in my ears, and I want to rip him apart. I want my sword so that I might slice that wicked grin off his arrogant face.

"Are you ready to come out of your cell, yet?"He leans against the bars of my prison, head tilted with that ridiculous hair blocking the view of a full half of his face, and speaks as if talking to a caged dog he's trying to get to stop chewing on the furniture. I am not his pet. I glare up at him and scowl.

"I had hoped that you would _eventually _see the light," his face shows a tinge of sorrow, but I'm certain that he's faking it. I growl at him. I'm getting out of here. I've exhausted all my ideas, but as long as I am alive I have the ability to think. And I will not trust this spirit- I wonder what he has done with Fi.

"Skychild," his tone is one of warning, and I can see the white fabric cape he had been wearing disappear in a flash of light. Good. He's angry. He comes down here, to taunt me every day- I remain in his mind and that tells me that he still considers me a _threat. _I look up at him- I can mock as well as he does with a plastered-on smile and a gleam in my eyes. I am defiant. And he knows it. He is not _my _sword and he sure as hell isn't my master.

"Master wants me to kill you," the demon lord explains for the thousandth time, "It is only by my good nature that you survive. You would think that you would be a little more grateful."

Then kill me. Kill me- unless something is stopping you. I continue to watch him, silent and defiant.

"Pretty little hero," he mocks, shaking his head his ridiculous piercing clacking against the cold metal bars, "Who are you trying to protect now?"

And he's gone. I hate it when he does that. There's absolutely no reason to do that. He's going to reappear somewhere creepy- I know it. That's just the way that thing is. He's trying to freak me out and I'm not going to-

I scream and scamper backwards as he appears within inches of my face. My heart pounds against my rib cage as I foolishly back myself into a corner. Why do I keep letting him get me like that? I take deep calming breaths and glare at him, at the intrusion of my personal space and the violation of what little composure I have left. I hate him.

And he's crawling on top of me. This time I won't let him get the reaction he wants. No, I know what he wants, and I am not going to give him the satisfaction. Why is everyone in this realm so _huge?_ He does it to be menacing, I'm sure of it. I don't know if the spirits can control their height or not, but Fi wasn't twice my size, and the man- the _thing _towering over me always used his size to try and intimidate me. I take a deep breath and tell myself that it doesn't matter. I've felled foes larger then him, I'm trained- I'm almost a knight-

And his hands are at the sides of my face as he stares down at me, his hair falling away and revealing his entire countenance with those demonic glowing eyes. He's staring into me. He thinks that I will falter- but he's wrong.

"Skychild," he repeats- and it is still not my name, "You need to stop this foolish struggling."

He forces me to look up at him, into those glowing eyes- and I can feel the rest of the world melting away... No! I jerk my eyes closed violently and try to wretch my head from his grasp- but he's strong- so _strong_- and all I hear is an exasperated sigh escaping his lips. Let him be angry. I don't care. I know I only tire myself out fighting, but I want him off of me and lash out, pushing him away, bracing myself with the floor to push him off of me.

"Stop that," he says and his voice is one of warning. The tone that tells me a "punishment" is coming. He repeats it in the same voice as I try to scamper out from under him.

"I am tired of this," and it shows in his voice and the scowl on his face, as the milky white of his skin is beginning to fade into a shining onyx. "Stop this insufferable disobedience _right now_."

Never.

It comes across in my eyes and he hits me hard enough to make the small room spin. I want my sword, but I don't need it to fight against him. I kick up, pushing him away and allowing myself to scuttle across the floor, but it's a temporary escape and he grabs me by the wrist hard enough for me to hear a sickening _crunch. _It doesn't matter if I lose- he only needs to know that I will _never _submit.

My vision is still blurry as he moves with that inhuman swiftness, pinning me down and doing his damnedest, despite my struggles, to hold me open for him. How is that type of strength possible? Is he drawing it from his master?

"Stop. Struggling." he hisses again, his voice commanding and frightening, but I'm beyond fear. I let out an exasperated grunt and use the wall behind me for momentum to shove against him, but he's stronger still and slides an arm under my back. "There you are," his words are soothing- does he think... what does he think?

"Calm down Skychild, and I won't have to hurt you."

I hate that name. I hate it so much. It reminds me of everything I was, of everything I lost- and I must have been crying because I felt the tears streaming across my cheeks. Not now, of all times, goddamn it. Absolutely not right now.

And he's kissing my tears away. What the holy hell is that?

"Calm down, Skychild," he instructs again in little more then a whisper, running those hands up and down my back.

That is _not _my name. Not my name. Not who I am. He's so much stronger then I am- and after everything I've been through, he has nothing better to do then to sit here, holding me and pretending to know who I am? I want to kill him- I want my blade to be the thing that spills his blood and causes him to draw his last breath- I want...

"Everything is going to be alright," He assures me, and pins me to the ground.

I wish I was strong enough to kill him.

Instead, I find myself burrowing into that diamond-patterned fabric, so ashamed of who I am, of what I have become that nothing he does to me matters anymore. None of it is of any consequence. Because I can't escape. I know that. So for all purposes, I'm already dead. And it doesn't matter what happens to a dead man. So I let him kiss my closed eyes, and I try to tell myself that at least it's some kind of contact- at least I'm not completely alone in the darkness anymore. I try to tell myself that maybe if I give into him he'll let me go- or give me more freedom so that I can try to find a way to escape. And I let myself believe it.

I'm desperate, and he can feel it, he can feel the change as the tension in my body is replaced by defeat. And he's back to his soft kisses, across my jawline and down my neck and I have to admit that after so long of nothing, then pain, that a little bit of pleasure has to be taken when it's offered. I know how stupid it is. I know what I'm doing wrong. And I tell myself that I'm only doing it because I have some small hope that he's going to release me. And by the time that he's at my lips I've stopped telling myself anything altogether. I don't care anymore.

That demon tongue... he has amazing control and I give up thinking and just live in a tactile wonderland of sensation. I escape from my practical mind and think of nothing more then the way his soft hands feel on my warm body, of the way his tongue massages against my own. I had nearly bitten it in half once- but now the desire to do so has drained from me. I can take solace in the feelings it brings.

He becomes... less violent when I'm not trying to push him away. He isn't mocking me for giving in or hurting me like I thought he would. He defies expectations by pulling away from my mouth and nibbling down my chest, the one bright red eye that I could see locked with my own, taking in my puzzlement. He's leading me up to something- I know it. This is the calm before the storm.

I don't close my legs when he pries them apart, I only pull myself a little farther up, bracing my back with the cold stone wall and watching, shaking with anticipation- I have no idea what he's going to do. I know he wants to hurt me. And a million things dance through my imagination- the vast majority involving some kind of genital torture that my brain won't finish fathoming- it sees no reason to put me through any kind of anguish when it knows that I'm about to experience it in the outside.

He grabs my dick and I freeze, every muscle tense- afraid that if I move or breath it will spur him on to something terrible. He rests the other hand on my side and looks down at me with a smile.

"See?" he asks, "Doesn't it feel better to give in? Look how excited you are."

What the hell is he talking about? Don't think about it. Should I try to hide the fear in my eyes? Does it matter?

But those thoughts melt away as he picks up a rhythm and moves his long fingers expertly across my cock- the fear never leaves me, but the sensations are enough to provoke strange sounds and feelings of relief as he seems to know just when to squeeze and just where to touch, playing nimbly with the little bundle of nerves under my head, and teasing at the slit, squeezing the shaft to provide that extra little friction- I don't notice that my arms are around his neck until he stops and pulls his hand away.

What the fuck is going on?

His fingers are at my mouth and I assume he wants me to open it- there's something coating them, salty, sweet- my precum... Oh fuck. He's... I'm... This is so fucked up. This is beyond the ability for my psyche to understand, and I'm not even going to try. He takes my chin in his fingertips and forces me to look up at him.

"What's wrong Skychild?" He asks, and for once it doesn't sound as if he's mocking me, "Let yourself go. Enjoy it. Haven't you ever done this before?"

Done- what the actual fuck? No. No I've never gotten a hand job from a demon in a cell after the goddamn apocalypse before. I can't even... I can't even really wrap my head around that as it's happening. I can feel my anger rising again, but it fades as he pushes violently against my lips, warm and inviting, leading the way, leading to what I can only assume is hell, and I've stopped fighting. His tongue. is magical, and it puts me at ease. By the time he pulls back, I'm in his lap and I have no idea what I'm doing there. The bulge grinding against me shocks me- I honestly didn't think that the spirits had... well, anything down there. But obviously, I was wrong. He had something. And it was in proportion to his body. What the- did he want me to do something?

No- thank god, no, he was sliding me off his lap and back onto the floor. The panic was slowly easing itself away when he loomed over me again. He kissed the side of my jaw, then nibbled up my ear, and I shocked myself by wrapping my arms around his neck again. There was something desperately wrong with me. I'm letting him play with me- I'm... involved in my own downfall.

Perhaps it's what I deserve.

"Still the strong, silent type?" He asks me, whispering, his hot breath against my ear.

What does he want me to say?

"Never mind" there's an underlying laughter, and the memories of that laugh come flooding back- nothing good follows it. Demons and beasts of nightmares are summoned with that laughter, traps and battles and hell itself. I jerk my arms back and prop myself up, and I know that the fear shows now. I wish he would just do what he was planning and leave me to my own suffering.

His gloved hand is tracing little triangles across my chest, and I lay my head against the wall and try to breath, try to will myself through this. He's a cat with a mouse. And suddenly, his hands are at my hips and he's jerking me to the floor again. I brace myself and stare up at him as he looms over me, licking his lips with that unsettling tongue of his.

"So beautiful for a mortal," He must have been talking about me, and it angers me. As my eyes narrow, he notices and tries a correction, "Don't be upset Skychild. Relax. Your life doesn't have to be like this. If you show me that I can trust you, then you could have a _very _different environment. I can let you see the sun again."

He's lying.

Isn't he?

It would be a lie to say that I consider myself experienced with sexual relationships, but I thought I knew what he was planning when he positioned himself between my legs, and I searched desperately for a way to deal with it. I looked up at him, judging him, resting there with his hands on my thighs, forcing them open, and I struggled, trying to will myself to say something- something that would stop what I knew was coming. Would it hurt? Of course. Ghirahim was going to do it, so it was going to hurt. I took a deep breath and closed my eyes, trying to prepare myself.

He spoke again.

"Are you _afraid_, SkyChild?"

I opened my eyes and looked up at him- he wore that arrogant smirk that so often led to trouble for me. He knew the answer. I covered my face with my hands, ran them through my hair and looked back up at him. He was laughing under his breath, laughing at me- at how pathetic I had become.

"I'm not going to _try _to hurt you," The promise fell from his lying lips, "so you need to _relax_."

I looked down at his erection and suddenly, the realization of what was happening hit me full force. He was a _big _man, and... this was not going to work. Just- even if I had _wanted _it, there was no way- spatially, physically, it wasn't something that could happen-

And he was smiling as the first intense bolt of pain shot through me. It _burned _and stretched and even though he stopped, it hurt- an intense pain that shot through me, and forced my body to clench, to jerk, to try and scuttle away- but he reached down and held me by my shoulders, bolted to the spot. I hadn't realized I had been screaming until the silence startled me.

"It isn't that bad," he chastised, and then added, "_relax_," in a tone that made such an act impossible.

There was no escape, and as he lunged forward, forming a path through my body-a body that rejected him outright, more pain shot through me, and I knew that something was horribly, horribly wrong. This was not happening. I cried out again and reached for the only thing I could find, wrapping my arms around his back and clawing at him, no longer consciously pushing him away or accepting- my mind was focused only on the pain and the ordeal going on inside. Everything was stretched out of place, rearranged to make room for him, and by the time I felt his hips push against my balls, something inside sent a bolt of electricity through my spine and I felt as if I were going to pass out. I saw stars against a black background and a brilliant flash, and nothing else mattered. I was spasming, twitching, and I couldn't stop until he had pulled back.

"Now," he smiled, and brushed my face with his free hand, one that wasn't holding me down, "This is the part that you're going to _like_."

Liar.

He thrust forward again, both hands on my shoulders, but this time there was no path to forge, and all pretense of gentility was abandoned- he slammed into me with the force of a killing stroke, forcing me to brace myself against the wall to avoid slamming my head into it. But what he said was true, the pain was lessened almost to the point of nonexistence, and as he slammed again, the bolt of pleasure lit up my nervous system- and the world outside my body melted away.

This happened again and again, but I had lost track of everything- I had all but forgotten about him as anything other then the cause of this feeling of euphoria. I was aware of an intense pain, of a soreness, but it was distant and far away, as if I were under the influence of some wonderful drug, and in my consciousness, all that was really present was the rhythmic feeling of those glorious bolts- he had somehow timed it so that one would begin just as the shuddering rays of the last had faded out.

I had no control of my muscles as they hit, I knew that I had to be ripping the flesh from his back, but it would heal and it didn't seem to be slowing him down. I could hear the rhythmic breathing he let out becoming more and more erratic, but it seemed far away and inconsequential. The euphoria wasn't fading as it had been, he was moving too quickly, and the part I didn't get to experience before a new wave set in was building, had no release, was _burning_, and I screamed at the sensation.

The tension it created was unbearable- my body ached at it, but he continued his onslaught, merciless and uninhibited, slamming with all his might at blinding, erratic speed. I buried my head in his shoulder and held on, riding the waves of pleasure and praying for a release of the energy building up so high it hurt-

And a flash blinded me as it did, as everything that had been building up spilled over, and my body was wracked with the overabundance, the energy, the pure ecstasy of the release, as every muscle tensed at once, and I felt my back arch, sending me into the arms of my lover, and reality hit hard and fast, shattering the facade and leaving me a panting mess.

What was wrong with me?

Did I just call Ghirahim my...

No. No, I didn't.

I'm not insane.

I tried to steady my breathing, but his arms were around me and he was kissing my forehead, no longer pounding into me, no longer doing anything but resting inside me and gently stroking me, purring with delight and leaving me confused, used, and weighted down with the world as it is now compared to what it had just been. I whimpered under his body weight and he slowly said something that I couldn't hear, the orgasm still ringing through my body. He was counting. And he pulled out in one smooth motion and suddenly the path he was forged was cleared- emptied. I felt empty. I grabbed at him and tried to pull him back down, and he laid his head on my chest. After so long with no-one, it felt nice. I have forgotten all pretense, forgotten that I was supposed to be plotting an escape and took a few minutes to just enjoy the other living creature breathing into my chest.

He kissed my chest and looked up at me, sticky- he had laid in the pool of my cum that had collected on my stomach and I was suddenly embarrassed about that- but it didn't seem to bother him.

"Did you enjoy that, Skychild?"

I merely stared down at him in wonder. And it elicited another laugh. But for some reason, this one didn't frighten me.

"Keep up the good work. Show me that I can trust you, and I'll let you out of this cell." He promised, and I didn't believe him. "A warm bed with silk sheets, good meals, and you'll see the sky again."

I wasn't going to get my hopes up. I nodded in understanding and pulled his head back to my chest. Just a little more time...


End file.
